Gordon Hutchinson Concealed Carry Training

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The Great New Orleans Gun Grab

A searing expose' of the scandal of gun confiscations that occurred in New Orleans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Lest we ever forget.

The Quest and the Quarry

A hunting story of the Deep South. How generations of kids from a farming family are taught the lessons of life through the experience of the hunt by one wise old grandfather, and a line of trophy bucks they pursue.

About Me

Author: "THE GREAT NEW ORLEANS GUN GRAB" (with Todd Masson), an expose' of the anarchy and outrageous behavior of civil authorities who confiscated thousands of guns from law-abiding citizens in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.
Also the author of "THE QUEST AND THE QUARRY"--a southern novel of the hunt.
Firearms columnist for LOUISIANA, NORTH & SOUTH CAROLINA, and MISSISSIPPI SPORTSMAN magazines.
Founding Member of the
Vast Right Wing Conspiracy.
Training Officer and Spokesperson
for the Lunatic Fringe.
Unapologetic Gun Nut
(with apologies to David E. Petzal.) Former Airborne Infantry Officer (82nd Airborne Division.) Former law enforcement firearms instructor. Current concealed carry instructor.
gordonhutchinson.com

Katrina Survivors Take Arms

Jo Ann Guidos, owner of Kajun's Bar, stood off looters with her handguns, Remington 1100 shotgun, and a motley crew of regulars at her bar. They are shown here standing outside the bar a day or two before her guns were confiscated by U.S. Marshals as she was attempting to load her vehicles and get out of the madness of New Orleans. Photo courtesy of Jo Ann Guidos

"8 Bodies In Place"

These are the ubiquitous signs--the hex symbols of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Teams would spray the signs on the outside of buildings once they had been searched. At the top was the date of the search. On each side of the "X" was the numerical identifier of the unit conducting the search. At the bottom of the symbol was the number of bodies found in the building. In this case, eight people were found in Jo Ann Guido's bar. If the bodies were not alive, the more chilling "Dead" would be added under the number. Photo courtesy Jo Ann Guidos.

Followers

Friday, May 15, 2009

Across the green hills, cobbled with white gravestones, a rolling thunder reaches into our souls.

Nineteen times the cannon speaks, a hollow boom hidden in the solemn recesses of Arlington.

The sign posted at the entrance as you enter the nation's cemetary for its war dead says it eloquently, its message poignant, stating there must be no bike riding, no children playing, no picknicking. "Please respect the sanctity of any funeral you see occurring...This is Hallowed Ground."

We are on a whirlwind tour of Washington, D.C. We have toured all the memorials: Jefferson, Lincoln, Vietnam, Korea, Iwo Jima. We have ended up, Memorial Day morning, on the steps of the amphitheater, overlooking the Tomb of the Unknowns. My wife Ti Lou, Greg and Peggy Vidrine, and most importantly my 15-year-old daughter, Jessica, have come to the nation's Capitol on this most sacred of weekends to see all the tourist things. But more than that, I want Jessica to understand the meaning of being American, and what hundreds of thousands of men and women have given up that she might live the life she lives--blonde, carefree, imbued with Britney and Backstreet fever, gabbing on the phone with girlfriends, talking always about boys.

She must understand what it means to be American, that people die across this world envying one simple thing about her--that she lives in and is a citizen of this country.

Every person that has "done" Washington has told us "If you do nothing else, you must see the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns..."

Unwittingly, we are here at the most solemn of the Nation's rites--the Laying of the Wreath at the Tomb of the Unknowns. A full military contingent, representing every branch of the services, and the U.S. Army Band conduct the ceremony. I see tears in my daughter's eyes--it is strange that I can see them through the wetness of my own.Back in Baton Rouge, I am describing the trip to a friend, Lynn Burgett, who spent some time as a young woman working for the Navy in Washington, D.C.

Lynn was very excited about our trip, even going to her congressman's office and picking up maps and tour guides for us before we left, drawing us an itinerary.

Our conversation wanders across the history of the Capitol, Arlington, what people have done to be buried there...

You know, she says, Daddy got the Distinguished Service Cross in World War II.

C'mon Lynn, I say, ever the cynic. Are you sure of this? The DSC is the second-highest award for valor given by the armed services. The only thing higher is the Medal of Honor. Lots of folks get all that confused...the ranking of awards is Bronze Star, Silver Star, DSC, Medal of Honor...

The next day, she brings me attic relics--dusty pictures in frames and yellowed newspaper clippings of her father, Marcus Boudreaux of Gonzales, La. As a young Technical Sergeant in the Army Air Corps, he received the Distiguished Service Cross for his heroic actions as a radioman/gunner on a B-17 Flying Fortress during a bombing raid in 1944 over Bremen, Germany.

Blinded in his left eye by cannon fire from German fighters, he suffered serious head wounds, continued returning fire, pulled an unconscious comrade from the ball turret, and was later found passed out over his guns--unconscious from blood loss and lack of oxygen.

I sit in awe, reading the clippings, looking at the faded red, white, and blue ribbon holding the cross with an eagle superimposed on its center, and I am again reminded of what I was trying to show Jessica.

That in the past and today, men and women warriors have stepped to the fore in a time of war, and offered their lives for this country.

Many came back. Many did not. Many have served without receiving large rewards or great medals. For many, the only remembrance is a simple white gravestone in a national cemetary.

But to all of you, veterans all, wherever you are remember this: though at times we seem shallow and out-of-touch, and our children seem more interested in the physical and pleasurable in life, we can and have been touched by your deeds and service.

We can and do realize your sacrifices are the reason we have the lives we enjoy as Americans today.

And sometimes, infrequently, our children get it too.

(This was written after a trip which occurred in 2002. I offer it here in honor of Memorial Day, and my brothers in the 82nd Airborne who have fallen in battle in so many wars. Airborne All the Way, guys. Gordon Hutchinson. www.theshootist.net)

4 comments:

America's oldest living Medal of Honor recipient, living his 100th year is former enlisted Chief Petty Officer, Aviation Chief Ordnanceman (ACOM), later wartime commissioned Lieutenant John W. Finn, U. S. Navy (Ret.). He is also the last surviving Medal of Honor, "The Day of Infamy", Japanese Attack on the Hawaiian Islands, Naval Air Station, Kaneohe Bay, Oahu, Territory of Hawaii, 7 December 1941.

(Now deceased) 'Navy Centenarian Sailor', 103 year old, former enlisted Chief Petty Officer, Aviation Chief Radioman (ACRM, Combat Aircrewman), later wartime commissioned Chief Warrant Officer Julio 'Jay' Ereneta, U. S. Navy (Ret.), is a thirty year career veteran of World War One and World War Two. He first flew aircrewman in August 1922; flew rearseat Radioman/Gunner (1920s/1930s) in the tactical air squadrons of the Navy's first aircraft carriers, USS LANGLEY (CV-1) and USS LEXINGTON (CV-2).

As a veteran of the Marines (2001-2003), I was never in any combat action (I am female). It shocked me to hear the stories of my dad (Navy) about Desert Storm and Desert Shield - things that he had never told me before. I had always wondered what he was doing over there!My brother (Air Force) lost a friend in Iraq. He never told me he was going. He paid his phone bill up for 6 months and left - I thought he was just ignoring me, when he was at war.My parents and their siblings were too young for Vietnam - but they remember the news footage, the radio broadcasts, etc.I have never visited D.C.(well, I did as a baby, but I don't remember it), but it is one thing that I want to do (besides visit Germany) when I get the time and money.In our day to day lives, we can sometimes forget what freedom - and being an American -is all about. Thanks for this post. Excellent!